


there never is a happy ending

by pasteur



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-02-03
Packaged: 2019-10-21 09:12:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17639948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pasteur/pseuds/pasteur
Summary: because,





	1. The Approach: Who Goes With You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dumplingsquid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumplingsquid/gifts).



It was a good while longer, a great many years into the world of new magic, that the mists began to rise from the earth. Enough time that one could be forgiven for having forgotten that Ravenhall was ever a thing apart from forest, that brook and stone and moss-blown edifice were once held back by a continuity of structure and a construction of community. Whether monoliths of stone or menageries, places out of the face's eye soon drift from the mind's eye, and memories like sprites of old only come into the hall when they have been first invited past the mind's threshold. So it was with Ravenhall, and so it was with the idea of magic that came from that overgrown place.

That is, until the fog blew up as though from within the ground itself, stones shedding thick tears that hung in the air, a world of bustle and busi-ness pausing slow, a world of drafts and distance finding the world now made of what is only near enough to hear directly. The cloud wasn't so bad, in some places; in the fleet of The Seawing the ship of the line was expert at sea regardless of visibility, but found its sister ships paralyzed by the trenchant fog. So it was that it sailed alone when it came to Fawn's feet.

The Seawing's berth was smooth and controlled, gliding onto sand and silt like ice. A familiar face from a lifetime ago looked back at Fawn through the fog. "By the Magus!"

"Yes, Caspian, it is good to see you too."

"Are you why all this is happening? You need to stop it, if you're the source of all the mists!"

"I need to stop it in any case. Where is the captain?"

"Go 'round the starboard side, you should have purchase and a rope to help you up." The golem tilted his head in direction and in kindred appreciation for her brevity.

Fawn floated past him and found the rope, making easy work of the climb. It's a wonder what you can do with hands.

"Captain?" She called out into the fog once on the deck.

"Ho!" came a hearty shout. "Behind the mizzen!"

She made her way to the rear of the great vessel, and found the charming, open-faced man, now older than belief, tying a rigging. He was taken aback for a moment on her approach.

"Excuse me! Sorry, I didn't see you there, on account of, the mist. And..." And then again, on sizing her up. "My goodness, I won't ask what you're doin' here, but I suppose I ought to ask the great Magus where it is she needs to go."

"There's a library - the drowned library, if you've seen it. If we sail northeast we should find its approach without running into the archipelago." She spoke quickly and surely. While now like a place from a dream... she remembered it as it was then, like centuries were yesterday.

_When you want to know more, think of what you're looking for and roll 1d6._

  * 1-2: Proceed to 2. The sunken archives: a rising sea
  * 3-5: Proceed to 4. The sunken archives: an answer in tatters
  *  6+: Proceed to 6.




	2. the sunken archive: the rising sea

The drowning library is clearly the right place... or it was, at one point in time. Her first kiss had been here, where the archives had once floated, buoyant with the knowledge and magic bound in each book and filling each shelf. Lifetimes ago, she had dreamt and promised that after, after, after; after the swords had seen their use they would be beaten not just into ploughshares, but also slide rules. That had been their promise to each other, before the first journey, before that last journey, here, at a beginning, if stories, unlike lives, could have one.

"What could have been different if we had come here?" she asked herself, crouching among the damp, wondering when it got like this. Crow Hall took so much from them that they could never give back. Maybe this could have been another way. Not being one for remembrance or regret, the thought took hold of her and made her head swim with the alternate dream.

_When you want to know more, think of what you're looking for and roll 1d6._

  * 1-2: Proceed to 3. The sunken archives: a rising sea II
  * 3-5: Proceed to 4. The sunken archives: an answer in tatters
  *  6+: Proceed to 6.




	3. the sunken archive: the rising sea II

She awoke from her reverie with a start to a sound of heavy footsteps on a spiral stair.

"Aw, H'magus, there you are, I found the books you asked for, but they're not in any language I'd know how to read."

She looked at him apprehensively, and gave a heartfelt nod. "Thank you, Piccolo. Your earnestness becomes you."

The man before her was taken aback, but gave a polite bow in return. "Is... is there anything more I can do?"

Fawn was about to wave him away, but thought the better of it. He had been just a boy, once, and helpful then, too. Maybe still just-a-boy — maybe never just one — always and always magustouched.

"Speak."

"Ah, aw, I'm sorry, I'm not very..."

"Gregarious?" She filled in.

He fumbled awkwardly, this big strong, respectable man, folding his hands in the pocket of his great captain's peacoat. "Sure." He seemed to warm with the spirit of memory, and slowly broke out his characteristic worried grin. She did her best to return the smile in her voice, as she knew it would never be convincing on her face.

"Actually, there's something I'd like you to look for..."

Some things never change.

_When you want to know more, think of what you're looking for, and roll 1d4._

  * 1-3: Proceed to 4. The sunken archives: an answer in tatters
  * 4 : Proceed to 6.




	4. the sunken archive: answers in tatters

Fawn was left idly poring over the spiraling shelves, pursuing intact books. Knowledge comes quickly for her, but here it is quick-but-stilted, quick-but-confused, quick-but-limited, quick-but-rare, quick-but-damp, quick-but-clearly wrong. The mist does not come from Mistwood. She could have told you that, but it is reassuring to be sure, to be reassured. It is the care of someone, something, familiar. She was right about the salt in the air. What does this mean?

It is is not enough to say "Ah, the sea!". That is an answer for sages, she thought, or maybe merchants, or golems, but it is no answer at all for people, or for foxes, or for a hedge-magus. She is not the center of this, whatever Caspian might think; it would not even be her task to see it through, but something called her here, and if she can do something for it, she will. That has always been her place. In any body. In any time. In any age of magic, or its absence.

_When you want to know more, think of what you're looking for and roll 1d6._

  * 1-2: Proceed to 3. The sunken archives: a rising sea
  * 3-5: Proceed to 4. The sunken archives: an answer in tatters II
  *  6+: Proceed to 6.




	5. the sunken archive: answers in tatters II

Enough shells of the ancient nautili remained above the water that Fawn was able to make a makeshift desk, and set to work finding what in this place had called to her. The languages in the books were... unusual, foreign, not undecipherable but confusingly written, with passages once translated that seemed to double back on themselves, and then again, and then again. More books to cross-reference must be necessary. More, more – but of course, even though with time she could solve this riddle, it tells nothing about the deeper question. Why the haunting mists? Where from? How long? Countless permutations of these three core questions seemed to lead her in circles and circles, around and around a pivotal central idea that she couldn't seem to penetrate.

Searching herself or asking for help in these ammonite stacks was the way forward, right? It amounted to progress, but the progress itself never felt as though it were in the same direction. Was the answer already lost to the waves, the standing water, or to the wisping mists? Was it possible? 

She reassured herself, _this is not to do with me._ This is not because of my history. I am here to solve this, not because I am the only one who could. And that answer seemed to have the auspices of truth, about it. This was never her territory, though; action, curiosity, industry, endeavors, not rigor or riddles or ridiculous magic that would be unheard of in her era to try and fix this problem that seemed to have no cause. Perhaps she should go back to the beginning? But even if that was the right choice, where else could she go?

_When you want to know more, think of what you're looking for, and roll 1d4._

  * 1-3: Proceed to 2. The sunken archives: the rising sea
  *   4 : Proceed to 6.




	6. 6.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The corpse.

"Took you long enough!" Her voice came out in a bitter laugh, the kind that would echo if it weren't dampened by the inch of water on the floor. It didn't come from a proper tongue — she and Fawn had that in common — but from somewhere around the mouth, more an expression of will to speak than any motor acuity. Which magic held her together, held her voice, held her sharp and subtle wisdom, absent of reproach, full of welcome and distance at once? 

Fawn's will to speak was not so strong. Her words failed her. She tried, but the mouth's mind was slow and silent in the face of her friend. Decades, eras, lifetimes gone by, and here she was, still here, back at that library she made.

"Next you'll be telling me I look good, I'm sure." The skull's rictus was constant, but the sweep of her arm and the remains of its cloak were still a gesture of kindness, despite their paucity.

"Magus." Fawn made out, still considering what words could fit her love and her fear and her feelings.

"Hedge-Magus."

"Magus, please, it's me."

"I know. Do you not think I know?"

"Did you call me back here?"

"Did you need me to call you?"

"Would I have come back in time if you hadn't?"

"You would have come back."

"I had almost forgotten. The magic that  _is_ , now, does so much, does so differently, it's.. hard to describe."

"I have you to thank for that, I'm sure. Are you sure it is different?"

"Yes. It goes on without me, for one. For now, at least, but I think even if I left this body for good it may still persist. The people can see it, can breathe it, even if they don't have the... words, right now, the wisdom to tell when it's there and how it can help them."

"So, you teach them? You were an excellent leader in your... chosen field, but I never expected you to follow my parallel."

"No... I still don't lead them, that's been in the past for forever."

"I remember. You fought for peace. Did you ever get it?"

"Did you?"

Long, bony fingers scratched the Magus' skull for a moment, holding the chin up in thought. "I'm content here. There is still room to be content, before we go."

"Oh, Magus." Fawn could feel an uncanny tightness in her face, like her foxform's nose being squeezed, and felt in her soul the magic finding a place to take root. "Magus I'm so sorry. I am."

"Fawn. You have served well, you have been a valuable Magus in your own right."

"I still have more to do."

"Your long dark nights are behind you, if you can let them go. You have been forgiven."

"I... I am sorry for that, and for leaving to begin with, and for being a different person again and again, and for the ways it hurt you. But that is not what I am here to apologize for."

The mist seemed to flow into the room, billowing, thickening, tangible, tastable, the sea arisen.

"Magus," she continued, "this is the hardest thing I've ever tried to do. You do look great. We both do, given the years we've been through. But if you're planning on leaving for somewhere else, your plane of numbers, your promontories, your worlds beyond of magic and– wherever it is, I cannot go."

And as Fawn turned her face, the mists began to tighten, and the Magus' bony form began to grow hazy, obfuscated, obscured, clouded, and gone. The vapor condensed, solid, like gemstones, on her face, crystal rivulets scouring lines from her eyes to jaw. The saltwater taste was bitter, biting, acrid, but cleansing nonetheless. As she looked out through the doorway back up she saw no trace of the mist at all. And at once in the magic she could feel that the water, collected, no longer dispersed, would haunt the land and sky no more. She bore it as another mask, in permanent tears bejewelling an impermanent face. She looked back to the Magus, and offered her condolences.

"I loved you."  she said, clearly, plainly, with a vigor that had escaped her before this moment.

"I loved you." the Magus returned, reclining, sweeping an arm, readying some last magic on this realm, to take her somewhere else.   
In any era, for any purpose, the last time she would ever see true magic.

 

~~~

 

_If you need to know more, think of what you're looking for, and roll 1d6._

  * 1-2: Proceed to 2. The sunken archives: the rising sea
  * 3-4: Proceed to 4. The sunken archives: an answer in tatters
  * 5-6: Proceed elsewhere.



 


End file.
